


A Chance Encounter

by Nesionne



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Depression, F/F, First Meetings, It's going somewhere. Eventually., Possible Amberfield?, Slow Burn, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesionne/pseuds/Nesionne
Summary: Yes, she was up here - peering over the edge of a cliff, alone on a Friday night - because she was ‘okay’. That sure as fuck checked out. She turned back towards the edge, raised her cigarette to her lips, and dragged on it once more. ‘Yup, fuckin’ great over here.’Chloe Price is... not okay. She's just ticking along, waiting forsomething. Fuck knows what, but what else is she to do?Life is shit.





	1. Chapter 1

She had heard, but she hadn’t listened.

To be honest, she hadn’t expected anyone else to come up here. She’d... hoped nobody would.

‘I... h-hello?’

Chloe dragged on her cigarette before turning to respond to.... It was just - just another girl, standing there, about ten feet or so away.

Chloe met her gaze, and the girl’s eyes broke off contact, zipping away to focus on something on the ground, or in the distance -- far beyond the edge of the cliff.

‘Sorry, what?’ Chloe snapped, loosing a haze of smoke. She scratched at her brunette locks. The girl flinched visibly; it was cold, up here by the lighthouse on this grey October evening -- but still, Chloe reckoned it was more her demeanour that’d unsettled the girl - who was sort of craddling herself - than the chill.

Chloe hadn’t meant to be so sharp, but... oh, fucking well, basically.

‘I--’ The girl paused, swallowed shakily, and returned her eyes to meet Chloe’s. ‘Are you... okay?’

Chloe snickered. Yes, she was up here - peering over the edge of a cliff, alone on a Friday night - because she was ‘okay’. That sure as fuck checked out. She turned back towards the edge, raised her cigarette to her lips, and dragged on it once more. ‘Yup, fuckin’ great over here.’

She paused, pulling deeply on her cigarette and scuffing her blackened converses against the dirt. ‘How about you?’ she chuckled, slowly leaning around to address the girl directly. ‘What brings you to--’

The girl was no longer there; instead, Chloe only caught a glimpse of a grey hoodie scurrying into the treeline, down the hill.

Oh... fucking well...

She flicked what remained of her cigarette over the cliff, and then, with a grunt, slumped onto the nearby bench.

\---

‘Miss Price--’

‘What, it’s not Chloe anymore?’

‘Ms. Price,’ Ms. Grant repeated, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I don’t appreciate the snark at the moment, thank you.’ She stood in front of Chloe, a stern expression on her face -- eyebrows furrowed, mouth clenched, that sort of thing.

For as long as Chloe had known Ms. Grant - which, by this point, had to be about... two years? - she’d never seen known her to get really angry; like, she occasionally got on Chloe’s ass for not ‘applying herself’ or some shit, but she’d never gotten really pissed like some of the assholes working at Blackwell Academy.

The whole place was brimming with them: fucking raging assholes, teachers and students alike. There were a few bright spots amongst the shit, admittedly. Some of the nerds were pretty cool, Chloe supposed, as were a bunch of the skaters. And, of course, Ms. Grant was relatively great -- aside from the whole ‘applying yourself’ crap.

What was the point in that? Everything was bullshit, just a labyrinthian, shitastic maze full of rats - Black Hell was a case in point. Some of the people here not being tools didn’t detract from that; polish that turd all you want, it’s still a steaming load.

Ms. Grant sighed, and her ‘unrelenting’ expression faltered, fading away just as quickly as it had arrived. Well, that didn’t take long.

‘Chloe,’ she said, her eyes gazing unwaveringly at her student’s. ‘I’m sure you’re tired of me telling you this, but I... I know you can do better than this.’ Having spoken, she raised and held a... somewhat crumpled worksheet - it’d been folded in Chloe’s pocket was all, it’s not like she’d gone out of her way to rough up her chemistry homework - between them.

Written in the top-right corner of the sheet, printed in a distinct red highlighter of some sort, was a juicy ol’ ‘C’. Shit, considering Chloe had spent, what, five minutes, tops, on this particular assignment, that wasn’t half bad; a ‘C’ certainly wasn’t the worst grade she’d received this term... which, in actual fact, had only started a few weeks... (it was about a month, right? Or maybe two?) ago.

‘I wasn’t aware a ‘C’ wasn’t a passing grade anymore, Ms. Gran--’

‘Chloe!’ Chloe stopped speaking -- she was pretty much done, anyway. ‘It is a passing grade, yes. But....’ Ms. Grant laid the worksheet on top of Chloe’s textbook -- which, possibly surprisingly, was actually in pretty good shape, save for a scuffed corner (Chloe had enough financial burdens as it was, she didn’t want to have to shell out for a replacement textbook at some point...). The teacher smoothed out the sheet as best she could, almost delicately, as if she were afraid it would somehow become more distorted if she placed too much pressure on it.

‘But it isn’t representative of your abilities. If you just--’

‘If I just ‘applied myself’?’

At that, Ms. Grant actually... smirked? ‘Yes, Chloe. How long has it been, now? Since I first said that to you?’ She paused; Chloe moved to respond but was cut off by her teacher. ‘It’s not important. I’m not giving up on you, Chloe Price, that’s what matters.’

\---

Well, this was officially, certifiably, scientifically, whatever-ly bullshit. She’d even said as much to Ms. Grant, who... to be fair to her, she hadn’t also thrown in a detention for Chloe’s mouthing off, so...

Yeah, Ms. Grant was damn cool, as far as teachers went. Still, having to re-do her homework - ‘properly’, this time, and for it to be on Ms. Grant’s desk before the day ended - was, in Chloe’s opinion, objectively a crock of shit...

Aw, whatever. It hadn’t taken long before, and she’d gotten a pass. She could spend a bit longer on it to get a... better pass. A ‘B’ would be fine, right? It’d take no time at all, then she could endure the rest of the shitfest that was the school day, before going... going ‘home’ to get baked.

So, here she was, in Black Hell’s computer lab, doing work during lunch break. It was spacious enough that she didn’t have to interact with any of the fuckwads who comprised most of the student body (not that many of them tended to come in here anyway, especially during lunch), and so she could just get on with her work.

Shit, if it had been anyone other than Ms. Grant, then--

She heard, and... intently listened to, what sounded like... crying.

Most people would probably have expected Chloe Elizabeth Price to have, at best, ignored whoever was crying. And they might have been right to do so; after all, she had cultivated a reputation as someone who didn’t give a flying fuck about... well, most things.

And maybe she normally would have. But in this instance, she, huffing wearily, slapped down the pen she’d borrowed from... shit, she couldn’t remember his name (not that it mattered; she’d probably lose it soon enough, and then he sure as hell wouldn’t be getting it back), and stood up. She decided she could at least survey what was up, but if it was one of those asshats from the Vortex Club or somethi--

It wasn’t -- as far as Chloe could, during her approach, tell. In the far corner of the room, a figure, hunched over a workstation, with their head cradled between their arms, was gently shuddering. Their sobbing was muffled, but they were nonetheless clearly crying. Didn’t take a detective to crack that one.

It was a girl, wearing a... grey hoodie, and with a head topped by a mop of mousy brown hair. Was it the same one as...?

‘Huh, okay.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after finishing Before the Storm, I just... had to write something, anything, even if it's not particularly great, or innovative, or anything. Just had to do something because of these goddamn feels!
> 
> It's my second 'published' fanfic, so please do fire away with suggestions or... again, anything! I appreciate there's not much to it at the moment. I, um... yeah, I struggle with putting pen to paper, as it were, so even this took me a stupid long time. I do hope to continue it, at some point, but if I do, I don't want to say anything concrete right now, as that'll make me anxious.


	2. Chapter 2

‘S-sorry, um... I... w-what?’

Chloe blinked. She had, seemingly, zoned out. The girl, no longer hunched over with her head hung low, had swivelled around - halfway, at any rate - to face Chloe...

...or to face her general direction, anyway. She flitted between looking at Chloe, at her shoes, the walls; she seemed to be, in more ways than one, all over the place. And Chloe didn’t really know what to say. Despite everything.

‘I...’ she stopped, not that she’d really started. Great job, dumbass. ‘I know the, uh... cafeteria food is pretty shitty, but it’s not that... bad?’

Welp, shit. Should’ve just walked off. Doing so would’ve kept her cred intact, at least. Now she was going to be known as the purveyor of really, really, really fuck-awful ‘dad’ jokes. Was _that_ even a joke? Like, technically? She couldn’t remember him ever having busted one _that_ bad ou--

The girl was dabbing at her freckled cheeks and trying to suppress her snivels, by the sounds of it, as she spoke. ‘I dunno...’ she cleared her throat and turned around further. ‘The cheesy p-potato soup was k-kinda - kinda gross.’

Chloe noticed a slight smile play across the girl’s face as she looked up. In an instant, though, she averted her eyes again and the smile was put away.

‘H-Hey, you’re the--’

‘Resident bitch of Black Hell? Oh, wait, there’s Victoria Chase. Damn.’

‘No, no, the - huh,’ she chuckled delicately, ‘Yeah, Victoria’s a nightmare. She’s right across from me in the dorms and-- Uh, no, s-sorry, I meant you were at the - the lighthouse... on Friday. I, uh... yeah...’

Yes, Chloe had already recognised this girl -- she was the phantom of the lighthouse, who, according to folk tales, asked people up there if they were ‘okay’...

...before swiftly fleeing.

‘Yup,’ Chloe nodded. ‘And you were ther--’

‘Y-Yeah,’ the girl muttered, shifting awkwardly in her seat and scratching at her scalp.

It wouldn’t have been _all_ that surprising if some tumbleweed had, somehow, gotten into the computer lab and, at that point, drifted on by. Whoever it was Chloe was talking to had gone back to admiring her shoes, or whatever -- and she had no idea if she should be inquiring into the crying thing or...

If she’d been caught in this situation, Chloe would’ve probably told this person to, well, fuck off. But... shit, she wasn’t... like most people, she recognised that. ‘Cause most people were massive shitbags (as demonstrated by the _fine_ people of Black Hell, or in Arcadia Bay at large), and... not that she wasn’t an asshole, too, just a different blend of--

Sighing audibly, she figured she should just ‘be nice’.

‘Sooo...’ she drew it out, though, as she see-sawed on her feet. ‘What’s the deal? With, umm... you know.’ Chloe gestured to her own face, to indicate what she was referring to, but the girl didn’t look up. So, it was a pointless gesture... still, it should’ve been obvious. At first, there was no answer. Chloe watched as the girl twiddled her feet together and picked at one of her fingers. Eventually, she glanced up and said, ‘No, it’s - it’s nothing. Just’--her voice wavered--‘um, you know, h-homework stuff, and... and...’

‘...and stuff? Ye-e-eah, I hate homework stuff and stuff. It’s the worst, right?’

‘...Yeah.’

Chloe sure as shit wasn’t convinced, but... shit, _somehow_ , she didn’t think she was going to get a better answer than that - not that she cared to, it wasn’t any of her business - and she didn’t really feel like launching into an interrogation; again, she didn’t know this person - not that it would matter if she did, of course, because she wasn’t a fucking therapist - and.... She could _at least_ ask her her name.

‘I’m, uh... Chloe Price, which... yeah?’ Weird. Weird and dorky. Whatever.

‘Oh.’ The girl frowned; what, did Chloe’s rep precede her? ‘Sorry, I’m, um -- my name’s M-Max. I, uhm... s-sorry, I’ve, um... s-sorry to be rude, but I’ve really got to get this... stuff done, so....’

Hm. Oo-o-kay.

\---

‘Fuck!’ Chloe hissed as she scrambled in through her bedroom window, sending a bottle clattering onto the hardwood floor in the process. So much for getting in without having to speak to Mom or... David and his pornstache.

‘Uugh!’ She cringed her mind was flooded by images of those - those fucking condoms in her mom’s drawer. She figured she should really stop referring to it as a pornstache (doing so pretty much always led her back to the ‘condom drawer’), but fuckin’ hell if it didn’t look like one.

As gracefully as she could, Chloe hobbled off her desk and lifted the traitourous bottle off the floor. It hadn’t shattered, thankfully. Apparently, she wasn’t as good at sneaking around as she’d hoped; she’d had plenty of practice at it, having slipped in and out of all sorts of places -- not just her own bedroom.

She crouched on the floor, breath bated, and listened out, hoping nobody had caught wind of her breathtakingly stealthy entrance. Shithead’s heap of crap was outside, on the drive, so odds were he was around. Moments passed, and nothing happened; Mom didn’t call out and Sergeant Asshat didn’t come goose-stepping up the stairs, ready to bombard anyone who’d listen with some masturbatory crap about his life in the military. Although, even if he did try to pull that shit (again), Chloe would’ve just locked the door and told what she usually did: to go get fucked. Usually did the trick.

So, good. Great, even. The coast was clear. It would be just her. Alone with her pot, and her music. Chloe sat at the end of her bed and, heavily, slouched against it.

Home, sweet home.

Except, it wasn’t. This house hadn’t been ‘sweet’ for years. Since he’d become worm food.

Her bedroom was... somewhat comforting. In that she could be completely and utterly alone in it -- it was her sanctuary from the outside world. But that wasn’t always enough. To... stop the gnawing. Or the pressure collapsing her chest, or the weight searing her mind, or the pulsating in her ears, or the sense of...

...meaningless.

She snatched around the side of her bed, fingers aching as she groped about for her stash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite my hand-wringing in the last chapter's notes, I've already done another chapter (even if it's a tad shorter than the last one). Figured I'd crack on whilst I've had little else to do today, and... here we are!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who sent kudos and commented! And, you know what, to everyone who's actually reading this, too. It genuinely is uplifting. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are again.
> 
> I do have some idea of where I'm going with all this, but... um, hmm... it's re-e-e-eal slow. So, apologies for that. :P
> 
> As usual, feedback is appreciated (I'd be especially grateful if anyone could provide some pointers for when it comes to handling... well, 'angst'.)
> 
> Thanks, and have a Happy New Year, and all that jazz.

Getting up was so...

...exhausting.

She groaned, flipped onto her other side, and groaned again - louder this time - when she saw the day’s light filtering in through the window. Why couldn’t it all just go fuck? The sun, the birds, the bees, the - just, all of it. Just go... away for a while. For a lo-o-o-ng while. Fuck it, forever.

Then she could stay in bed, asleep. She wouldn’t have to... do. That, or a zombie apocalypse or something could break out. Nuclear armageddon. Sure, go for it. Either of those could be interesting. Everything errupting into a super-fucking-big fireball.

Although, the zombie apocalypse would give her a good reason to bludgeon David’s head into a pulp. Not that she didn’t have reason enough to do it now, but at least she wouldn’t be busted. _Nah, he was totally a zombie -- or close enough to it, trust me._

Probably wasn’t gonna happen, though. Not today. Or anytime soon. But maybe at some po--

‘Chloe! Get your ass out of bed and get a move on, girlie!’

Fucking ‘girlie’? Again? Motherfucker. Which... was literal-- Nope.

She needed to get baked, right shitting now.

\---

At this point, the buzz had well and truly gone. It didn’t feel nearly as relaxing as it once had. Probably shouldn’t have been all that surprising; she’d been doing it for so long now.

Chloe had first started smoking shortly after it had happened. She needed something - _anything_ \- to take the... take the edge off. It had helped when other ‘solutions’ failed to do so, had made her feel less... more. Nowadays, though, even when she puffed her ass off - she inhaled deeply, eagerly drawing in the cigarette’s offering - it just felt like she was just going through the motions. Sure, it was better than nothing. It was, yeah...

...but the edge was still there; with just one stray thought, she could find herself leaning over it, gaping into the abyss, and - and she could leap straight into it -- freely, down, down, down.

Which sounded completely and utterly fuckin’ melodramatic. And she would never tell another soul about it. Because it was so goddamn pathetic. Jerkily, she drank in more of the cigarette’s fumes.

Shit, whatever. In a little while, the gates of Blackhell would open once again, and Chloe could go - go hotbox somewhere, or... yeah, that’d be good. Not in her own room, of course, ‘cause somebody’d get on her case about it. In her own shitty bedroom, she was forbidden from relaxing. Su-u-cked. Big time.

The stash in her room was running low, however. She ended up burning through more of it last night than intended.

What time was it? Having fished her phone out of her pocket, Chloe was relieved to see that there was a sizeable chunk of lunch break remaining. Well, sort of relieved. That, and pissed; the former because it meant she should have plenty of time to rustle up some stuff on campus (from the skater crowd, no doubt -- rare was the day that they weren’t holding something, thankfully), and the latter because it meant the _point at which she could actually use said stuff_ and _now_ was longer.

Sighing softly, she let her cigarette tumble from her fingers, and ground it into the dirt. Emerging from behind the swimming hall and into the quad, she was surprised to see it was relatively empty.

The weather was exceptionally mild (there was an indecisive breeze, accompanied by a really slight chill, and the sun was otherwise indifferent), and as far as Chloe was aware, there wasn’t any ‘school crap’ going on (not that she paid such things much attention, admittedly), so she really didn’t know where everyone had gone. Or care, for that matter.

Even Steph and... Micke-- no, Mikey... were absent. Chloe had only spoken to them on a handful of occasions, and it’d always been out in the quad. They were nice enough. Inoffensive. One time, they’d even invited Chloe to a game of... some nerdy shit, which was sweet of them and all, but... she wasn’t really into fantasy, and... she just hadn’t been in the mood.

She never really had cared about swords and spells, and stuff. Actually, she did have a passing interest in ‘European martial arts’ -- a few years ago, she had stumbled across some videos about them on YouTube, and, shit, what wasn’t there to love about something called a ‘murder-stroke’? So, swords were actually kinda cool. There was also that time when she’d developed a fascination with pirates, technically. 

It was a short-lived fascination, however.

The downside to the quad having been essentially deserted was that, well, the people she’d actually wanted to speak to were... well, they weren’t anywhere to be seen. Their usual haunt, Chloe observed as she stood beside the eyesore that was the quad’s centrepiece, was - in keeping with the current theme, it seemed - lifeless.

Save for one person, that is. It was the one and only ‘Max’. What were the odds?

Probably not all that low, to be honest? It’s not like Blackhell had _that_ many people attending it (that was one way in which it differed from the actual hell, then). It was located in Fucking-Nowhere Bay, U.S.A., after all. Apparently it did have some  
nationally-renowned Arts programme of some sort (was it for Drama?), but would anyone really come out to such a shithole for that?

Huh, Max was wearing the same grey hoodie that she had been yesterday, and last Friday? Did she _ever_ take it of--

Didn’t matter. Chloe wanted to get into as few social situations as possible -- so, having assumed that Max wasn’t holding (which was re-e-e-eally doubtful; she just... didn’t give off that vibe?), Chloe swivelled on her heel and proceeded to look elsewhere. The skaters might have been in the car park. And if they weren’t: then, bullshit, maybe she’d have to stomach checking through the halls.

Before she made it even five feet, however, she was stopped in her tracks. By a sound.

A sound she had not heard in years.  
One that, quite frankly, she really didn’t want to be hearing presently.

Stiffly, Chloe turned back to look in Max’s direction, and stared. Her jaw tightened.

Clutched, preciously, in the other girl’s hands was a camera. One of those really old, really outdated... polaroids. He used to have one. A polaroid. Rarely ever used it. For events. Stuff like that. Whenever he’d fish it out, it was like... an event in itself. Because it brought him such - such joy.

Although, now, she... Chloe could hardly - she couldn’t... couldn’t really remember _which_ occasions he’d gone and d-dug it out for. Only that he just seemed so... like, giddy, when he did? He-- no, he insisted _they_ were ‘making memories’. She could still picture his sm...

No. It was a blurry, distorted mess; bits weren’t right. All going away.

‘Chloe?’


	4. Chapter 4

‘I... ye-e-eah, what?’

‘You - You were...’ Max paused, blinking rapidly. ‘Are you, um...?’ Apparently, she was no more self-assured than when they’d met yesterday. A wallflower through and through, then.

To be fair, it probably didn’t help that Chloe was - still _is_ \- staring. She was gawking at the other girl. Well, technically speaking, she was gawking at the object clutched between the girl’s tightening hands -- her instant camera.

All in all, it was hardly the strangest thing to have drawn Chloe’s stare (confused, enraged, or otherwise) onto a more-or-less total stranger. It was up there, though, sure. E-e-especially so if one took into account the fact that Chloe had, seemingly, trudged across the quad, in the opposite direction of where she had wanted to go, to... yeah, she had no fucking clue what she was doing.

Max was awaiting an answer to her question (not that it was _really_ a question), if her remaining stood in front of Chloe was anything to go by. Her eyes sporadically caught Chloe’s.

‘That camera is... really old, huh?’ Chloe winced; she need to snap out of it, to stop thinking about all of _that_ and - and just...

Truth be told, she thought this whole thing might have lost its sway over her now, that it wouldn’t still make her like... well, this. It was old, after all. Old. History.

Evidently, she was wrong. Wrong.

‘Could... could I...?’ Tentatively, she reached out - _painfully_ \- to just touch the camera.

In an instant, though, before Max could even think to respond, Chloe snatched her hand back to her side. She ground her teeth, clenched her fists. The fuck was she doing? This was weird, and lame, and stupid, and-- She locked her eyes to the tiled walkway below, staggered backwards, removing the girl from her space. ‘No, I - it - it doesn’t ma-matter, I don’t give a shit, I don’t...’--here, she choked--‘...care.’

Chloe swirled, not looking up, and stormed off to... somewhere. She wanted - _needed_ \- to be alone, somewhere she could... Jesus, fuck.

\- - -

The waves hurled themselves against the rocks. Not forcefully enough for her tastes. She’d’ve liked to see them rear up, like some rancorous beast, to watch as they ceaselessly hammered themselves against their opponents, with such wrath that the cliff in its entirety was rent asunder. Some Ragnarök, end-of-the-world shit, please.

Yeah, like a fuckin’ massive serpent, looming over the bay. Something like that would be the sweetest shit, especially if it thrashed into the town and--

Chloe didn’t know what she wanted; she sighed. Smoke filtered out through the cracks.

She was up, again, by the lighthouse. Had been for... - she fished her phone out, grumbling when, at first, it did not respond to her jabbing the power button (it relented, eventually) - ...for several hours. Kept company solely by a cigarette. Which was fine n’ dandy; smokes didn’t ask shit of her.

School had finished. She’d missed all her post-lunch lessons. Hurray. Mom was, undoubtedly, going to be all over her ass, like a blistering rash, but fuck it, quite frankly. When wasn’t that the case? Odds were, she was already on Chloe’s case; if she turned off airplane mode, her phone would almost certainly be bombarded by notification after notification, message after message.

_Chloe, where are you?_

_There will be consequences, Chloe._

_Chloe, you need to be better. For me. Please._

‘Cause it was just as easy as that, right? Just. _Be. Better._ Be better for other people’s sake, because pretending to be alright so that everyone else could feel better about themselves and be comfortable, that was what was important, right?

Chloe was, now, acutely aware of the heat radiating from her smoke, which it offered to her.

 _That_ was the most important thing, so that Mom could feel okay, could console herself about the fact that she had moved on, had fuckin’ latched onto that fucking porn-stached prick, had forgotten all about--

‘Fuck!’ She thrust a finger along the cigarette’s flank, teeth gritted, to the edge. It was a somewhat familiar sensation, the deep, sharp, piercing sensation that seized at her.

Chloe jolted up, off from the bench, crying out, wailing. She cursed and spat, snapped and bit, as she stumbled to the cliff face, singed finger cradled into her clenched fist. When it hurt her, she could just be rid of this companion. No questions asked as she flipped it into the roiling waves far below.

She collapsed back onto the bench, hissing wearily.

That was really fucking dumb. She knew. It was pathetic. It hurt the two times she’d done it before -- once accidental, once purposefully. It hurt again.

Her body trembled, her vision fogged. Another familiar sensation.

\- - -

The next day was just the same as any other.

Brimming with possibilities, of course.

No, it was actually different than most days, in that today she had detention -- she didn’t have to suffer through them all that often, because she, usually, did the bare minimum to _avoid_ getting reprimanded and, subsequently, saddled with ‘hey-spend-more-time-at-this-shithole’ sessions. Flying under the radar was Chloe’s modus operandi.

Ditching school for an afternoon will bag you a detention, though, regrettably. Unsurprising, really. In fact, it was more surprising that she was slapped down with _only_ a detention. Black Hell was generally really anal about students not breaking its rules. Thou shalt toke up. Thou shalt not bail on listening to boring-ass, pointless shit!

(...wait, wouldn’t ignoring those commandments put one in Black Hell? Eh, whatever.)

So, here she was, in the chemistry lab, an hour into her punishment -- and, oh, God, how those sixty minutes had just zipped on by! Like someone whose had their knees capped hurtling along through the gutter. Oddly specific, perhaps, but it got the point across.

It _dra-a-a-a-aged_. At least she was able to finish her homework. Sort of. Her English stuff had had a few corners cut, sure -- but, come on, how much effort did English require? His curtains were blue, or some shit, so he (whoever he is) is sad and going through an existential crisis and this and that and.... It was far from her favourite subject, to say the least.

Anyway, the job was done. Which saved time, time which could be better spent on her chemistry homework instead, which would save time later down the line when Chloe wouldn’t be asked to re-do it. The homework, that is. And... time, and... yeah.

Speaking of which, how much more did she have to waste here? She craned her neck, unwilling to simply stop hunching over the table to se--

‘Fu-u-u--’ she exclaimed. Loudly. It had not been an hour but, in actual fact, only thirty-seven minutes. God. Damn. ‘...u-u-u--’

Oh, shit. Her eyes flickered to the front of the room, hastily searching for the - the guy who was supposed to be in here, the sub or whatever he was. ‘...u-u-u-u-u--’ she continued, pivoting in her chair to scan the room, hoping he hadn’t just moved somewhere else but fucked off entirely. Now, yeah, she could have just stopped speaking, but... eh. Flying low didn’t entail _never_ stirring up shit, right?

The coast was clear. ‘...u-u-uck.’

‘Ha, ye-e-eah,’ chortled a voice from behind Chloe. It was Justin Williams’s, unmistakeably. She could tell without even checking (which was, she noted, not particularly impressive, given a) she’d seenn him whilst sweeping the room, b) there weren’t very many people in the room at all - like, five or so? Fuck, was everyone here goodie goodie? (More likely the faculty didn’t give a shit (case in point, the guy supervising had vanished!)) - and c) his voice was just so stereotypically a skater’s. It was just, magical, in a dumb way.

She could go and talk to him for a while, she guessed, seeing as how no one was around to keep the inmates in check? He was pretty okay, sans his... weirdly, adorably infuriating voice... and he-- Yeah, he was okay, but in short bursts? Unless you were hitting up for some weed... which she hadn’t actually done yesterday, so-- No, this was not the best place to be doing that, dumbass. Hell knew when that asshole would come back in and start working for Chloe’s scholarship money!

Uh, no. She groaned in exasperation; things were looking bleak and slo-o-o-ow. Justin wasn’t great prison-camp company (sorry, Justin). And there sure as shit wasn’t anyone else whose shit she would tolerate.

Although, she... ugh. There was her. Max... _Max_ , in the distant corner. Chloe wasn’t big on just striking up conversation with randos, but... Max didn’t seem so awful. Thus far. Aside from coming across as sort of a dork. Oh, and that _fucking_ camera.

Still, she felt uncomfortable about what’d happened yesterday, and - and she needed to make sure that Max wouldn’t be telling about that.

Yeah.

It could hurt her street cred. Or whatever. Being seen as a big ‘ol nasty bitch did wonders for keeping fuckwads (read: people) of all shapes and sizes away. Perfect excuse.

Awkwardly, Chloe hopped onto her feet, and slipped over to the other side of the room. Max, turning the page of whatever she was reading, did not notice her arrival. Chloe towered over her -- well, duh, Max was sat down, but even when they both stood, she... noticed that there was a sizeable difference.

Chloe lingered, standing and watching for a moment, before clambering into the chair beside the shorter girl’s. ‘Hi, Max,’ she said, gingerly. ‘I - I, uh, just wanna say I’m... to apologise for yesterday. I was’--she scratched along the back of her neck--‘was weird, and weirdly shitty. But if you tel-’

‘We’re supposed to be in detention right now... Chloe, so if you don’t mind...’ Max stiffly pointed past Chloe as she spoke, as if... gesturing for her to buzz off?

Chloe blanked; this wasn’t the response she expected, but, ‘...uh, o-o-oka--’

‘Oh, no, sorry!’ Max’s hand tentatively reached out to stop Chloe, who was in the process of swivelling away. She, sort of, prodded at the taller girl’s forearm, making contact for only the blink of an eye. ‘S-Sorry, that was a joke,’ she blurted out, almost too quickly for Chloe to understand her. ‘A cereally bad one apparently, but...’

Her hand retreated, back to the edge of the desk, where it latched on for dear life. Well, for a moment, anyway; within seconds, it was fumbling with the other hand’s fingers.

All the while, Chloe frowned at the shorter girl, her right eyebrow arched almost comically.

‘O-Okay, I... I didn’t think it was _so_ bad...’ Max said, chewing her lip.

‘Uh, no, I’m not...’ Chloe was _struggling_ to comprehend what she’d just heard. Had the other girl really just said that? ‘No, I - I mean, the joke was pretty awful, yeah. ‘But ‘ _cereally_ ’? Like,’ Chloe guffawed, ‘who says that?’

Max shifted in her seat, sliding ever so slightly further down behind the desk as she did so. ‘Me.’

‘Right,’ Chloe drawled. She felt, observing the figure before her, that she ought to change the subject. It’s not like she was that intrigued about the no doubt riveting origins of ‘cereally’, anyway. ‘So, what - what are you in for?’

‘Huh?’ A beat passed. Max’s eyes shot up. Chloe lazily twirled a finger, smirking, to point out their surroundings. ‘Ah, duh.’ Max shrugged guardedly. She delicately cleared her throat and said, ‘I... uh, I...’

Chloe craned forward, ready and willing to be regaled with a tale of... something moderately interesting, hopefully. Normally, she could have cared le-- wait, no, couldn’t have cared less about high-school ‘drama’ like this; so long as whatever the ‘drama’ was did not affect her, then it could fuck off? In this instance, however, she did find her attention was _vaguely_ peaked, because this girl was, well, shit... a wallflower, was someone who had broken down in the computer lab and then immediately started doing her homework. Eh, Chloe didn’t really know her, admittedly (didn’t even know her surname), yet she didn’t come across as the type who regularly got saddled with detentions. And the way Max was now spluttering about it, it must have been sorta entertaining, right? And it’s not like she didn’t have shit-all-else to do.

Maybe she was just kidding herself.

‘...rolled my eyes. At a teacher...’

Chloe dramatically slouched back, exhaling. Cocking her head, she said, ‘Is that it?’

Max’s breath hitched, and her mouth was slightly ajar. She scrunched up her face, possibly thinking of some way she could dress up her misdemeanour to sound more exciting. ‘I... yes... that’s, that’s it. Lame, huh?’

‘Yu-u-up.’ Chloe immediately retorted. Max returned to her book without a word. ‘...But the teachers here are largely massive fuckers, so it’s sorta hardcore,’ Chloe bumped the other girl’s elbow and squeezed her right index finger and thumb together - almost touching, but not quite - just to make it clear how _only sort of_ hardcore it was.

The shorter girl smiled, her gaze focused on the gesture Chloe was making. Couldn’t let her think she was really _hardcore_ , Chloe mused.

‘Hey, umm...’ Max started, almost inaudibly. ‘I... m-maybe this is weird or strange, or...’ She looked up to Chloe’s face, smile waning. ‘But are you - I mean, are you... free later - later today?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay. So, I hope this chapter is good (or at least mildly entertaining!). It was going to be longer, but I decided not to rush this chapter just so I could get stuff I've written in advance in. I want this to be slow (not *too* slow, of course), so, yeah.
> 
> Enjoy (or don't :P)! Constructive criticism very much appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I kinda (read: do) enjoy writing this (...surprise? Hopefully that'd be the case, to some extent? An-n-nyway...) and as I've had naught better to do this evening, decided to upload the extra segment that I've written over the past few hours or so...
> 
> Um, yeah... which probably says a fair bit about the amount of time I have on my hands and what I choose to do with it, but... *shrug*.
> 
> This was not what I'd intended to put in the last chapter (I hadn't planned to write a section like this at all), so I haven't gone back on what I said in the last chapter's notes or anything. It is relatively short - it's more like a stopgap (kind of an unnecessary one) - but enjoy. :D

Yes. Of course, she was. Free after detention. In the sense that she had nowhere else to be. In others, that... was getting into a whole can of worms.

Yeah, she agreed to go hang with wallflower Max. Why? For a change? And it was a, uh... surprisingly refreshing one. In a sense.

‘Seattle, huh? That’s, uh, cool.’ Was it? ‘I mean, um... I’ve heard it’s swarming with hippies, but better that than raging assholes, right?’

‘Hippies? I think you mean hipsters...’ Max tucked her legs underneath her, on the bench. Three guesses where they were.

‘I...!’ Chloe raised a finger in objection. After a moment, it slunk back in its place, resigned. ‘...might have.’

Neither of them spoke for a short time after that. They hadn’t talked all that much on the way up, or out of Hell, or within its confines; the sub (or whatever) had not disappeared for that long, and he had felt it imperative to reassert his authority upon his return.

Max asked if Chloe had lived in Arcadia Bay long (she had, of course), and Chloe returned the question. Arcadia Bay was not at all a big town, but on account of her preference for not having to deal with people, she typically went out of her way to avoid them. Thus, there were plenty of folks she did not know, nor wished to.

The weather was... nice.

No, that wasn’t true. It was _actually_ really nice. It was around that time of day when the sky traded in its daytime coat for one more... more bittersweet, lit up in a deep, fiery golden hue. The sun was making its escape beyond the horizon -- it always was, though. Running from one day to the next. It never quite made it, however, never quite tasted the sweet respite it craved and chased for so long. Hopelessly, for millions, and millions, and... millions of years. Beautiful, but dim.

Max’s voice was soft, muted.

‘Huh?’ Chloe leaned back, directing her thoughts away from that desperate star and to whatever it was the wallflower was saying.

‘I... I really love this time of day.’

Chloe remained quiet. She foldered her gangly legs up underneath her.

‘...it’s the Golden Hour,’ Max said, nodding firmly. ‘I mean, that’s what - what photographers call it, and... and--’

‘Makes sense.’

‘--and... yeah.’

A hush resumed. Between them. Nature, naturally, kept on churning. The soft crash of waves, impacting down below, swept up.

‘I’m sorry, but I...’ Max petered out, again. In the corner of her eyes, Chloe saw Max peek at her, then away. At her, then away. ‘Do you mind if I - I ask why, uh, I - no...’ she inhaled, raggedly. ‘Why... why you were up here?’ she said, her lilting ridiculously. Coughing, she added: ‘Last Friday.’

Moments slithered by, moments punctuated by Chloe’s silence and Max’s efforts to, presumably, be silent; the latter girl did not speak, but she did squirm and fiddle, wringing her fingers, her clothes rustling. Not conspicuously or anything, mind you; enough for Chloe to notice, however.

‘S-Sorry, I should--’

‘For fuck’s sake: stop saying, ‘Sorry!’’ Chloe growled, glowering. Her eyebrows snapped taut, wrenched downwards; her teeth flashed. So did her eyes.

Max looked... taken aback, but she did not flinch or move away. Only blinked rapidly, quizzically, as her mouth slipped open.

Chloe surged onto her feet, hackles raised, breath forcing its way out in broken pants. She spun, this way and that, fucking unsure which way to fucking look.

You didn’t see red when this happened. Not literally, of course. That would be shitting stupid. But you did... feel... red. Or Chloe did, anyhow. Something - adrenaline? - flooded through her, gushed into her veins, intoxicated her. She wanted to fucking smash something so goddamn fucking badly -- fucking _anything_ , just wanted to have it break beneath her heel, between her hands. To have it crack, splinter, be torn asunder, never to be whole again. There was something so... _heady_ about destruction.

She wanted to break something.

She whirled to face Max, who - who... sat there, on the bench, hands clasped in her lap, fraught with nervous energy, sure, but... she just sat there, eyes trained on the earth.

She... fuck. This was - fucking damnit. This was so... so _uncool_. Chloe was - what _was_ she doing? Going fucking ballistic over... over one stupid fucking question.

Chloe heaved, uneasily stepped forward.

‘M-Max, I... shit, I...’ What was she meant to say? This was so, so screwed. Fucking p-people. Her voice faltered. ‘I’m - I’m so fucking sorry, I-I...’

This was unfair, on - on both of them -- Max didn’t deserve to be screamed or - or any of this shit at for fucking nothing, and Chloe did... did... did not... deserve to be screaming at a fucking stranger...

Did.... Did not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addendum: I'll get into the reasoning behind this outburst next time. I'm not having Chloe just *randomly* fly off the handle. :P


	6. Chapter 6

‘What? H-Hey, it’s okay, I don’t - I shouldn’t have been so nosy, but... It’s my bad.’

No, no, it wasn’t _Max’s_ bad. It was **her** bad. Chloe’s. Flumping down beside the other girl - but at a distance, as far as the bench allowed - Chloe, breath burdened, cast her hands through her hair.

‘No, I - I shouldn’t have gone ps-psycho like that, I...’

She flinched as a hand patted her shoulder lightly, daintily, almost not at all. Like the hand’s owner was afraid it would be mauled off.

‘...I--’

‘N-No, seriously, I’m s--’ Max caught herself, bit her lip. ‘It’s... okay, you didn’t...’

She drew in air, faintly, and whispered. ‘I just... wondered if you were... up here... for the same reason as m-me...’

Chloe, gradually, peeked up at Max, who, in kind, discretely nodded towards... the edge. Of the cliff.

Chloe zipped back to Max and, for some stupid reason, exclaimed, ‘Really?’ She was just... surprised, or something, that someone lik--

Someone like Max. She didn’t know Max, for shit’s sake; she first met her only... like, five or six days ago, and they’d spoken for like, what, two hours or so? Hour and a half?

Sure, she was a bit of a dork, seemingly, but... ugh.

Max’s expression was one of shame. Nothing more, nothing less. She shrugged lamely, and said, ‘...you were up here, too. And I saw your... your fingers.’

‘I--’ Chloe examined her fingers; those on the right hand (specifically, her index and ring fingers) were marred by burns -- they weren’t particularly obvious, Chloe had thought, but apparently she was wrong. The most recent one, located at the top of the index finger was, yeah, weepy and... sore. ‘--I... smoke, they get burned a-- No, I meant, why are...’

‘...am _I_ thinking about _that_?’ Max glumly snorted. ‘I wasn’t going to... do anything, it’s... I d-dunno...’

Shit. This...

...maybe this was...

‘Ye-es.’ Chloe stated. She went for matter-of-factly; her throat cracked, however. This was uncomfortable, unfamiliar terrain -- talking... openly about this sort of shit, to a fucking stranger and all.

She thought she could keep a lid on... all of it. Apparently, she was wrong. If the past few days had shown anything -- in her room, on campus, up here (twice), it.... Her chest was spiralling, yearning to... unburden itself. Even a bit. ‘Yeah, that - me too.’

\- - -

It was... well, not all that bad, honestly. Not nearly as cramped as one might have expected, given it was a dorm room. It was surprisingly spacious.

It wasn’t as large as her own room, of course (was it?). Not that that meant anything.

It wasn’t half bad, that was all. Actually, no, yes, it was. As soon as you went out the door, you were back in Black Hell. You had never really even left.

Not that going anywhere else was any better. You could step out of Tartarus, sure, but you hadn’t left Hades. But none of that mattered right now, not...

‘Sorry about the mess, it’s... I haven’t finished unpacking yet.’ Max sheepishly glanced at a heap of cardboard boxes in the corner of the room. It was mostly contained in the corner, anyway.

To say nothing of the books; textbooks, art books, and... other kinds of books (a few notebooks, it looked like) were dispersed all over the place, some flopped onto their covers, some bent at awkward angles, on the bed, the floor.... Quarantine measures were necessary.

‘It’s nothing compared to mine. It’s fine.’ Chloe didn’t quite know where to sit, though, ‘cause she really did not want to just dump on this girl’s stuff. Max, presumably picking up on this, ‘tidied’ her bed, by sweeping its cluttered coverings onto the floor -- including a one-eyed teddy bear.

Spotting it, Max gasped and swooped down to grab him. She dusted its fur and murmured something, before laying it down, against a pillow, at the head of the bed.

‘So, um...’ she uttered, looking at anything but Chloe whilst directing her to the bed.

‘Yeah, thanks.’

They both sat, at opposite ends of the bed, saying nothing. It was, once again, silent. Save for the impatient tick-tocking of the alarm clock on Max’s desk, and the occasional muffled scream or laugh filtering in from the hall, or through the wall....

Chloe squirmed. Perhaps, this wasn’t the best idea. Why was she here? She... what was wrong with the light house? Why was she here? What the hell was she thinking, coming here to Max Who-the-fuck-knows’s room, to talk about... _her_ shit, and what was fucking talking gonna do, she’d already been grilled by shrinks, and--

‘He’s dead.’

She was startled, by her own voice. Hadn’t meant to say anything, n-not yet anyway.

‘He’s dead. My... my dad, I mean.’

She closed her eyes, listened to her breath, to her pulse. It was... even, steady. Normal. She peered over at Max, uncertain of what she was expecting. The other girl was going to say ‘sorry’, she knew that much.

Max did not, however. Only nodded, meekly and solemnly, once. ‘Oh.’

Chloe swallowed, turning to stare out the window at the darkening, red-gold sky.

‘And I - I know: ‘Boohoo, everyone’s l-lost someone, r-right?’’ The hollow mass in her chest wreathed, coiled. Her breath sharpened. ‘I get it. I’m pathetic, I know, I...’ Barrelling onwards was taking its toll.

‘I’ve... never had anyone I was close to di--’

‘No, that’s - that’s just it... I...’ She knew her ribs would clench around her, strangle her. She would be able to feel each pulse as they ricocheted within her. ‘We weren’t, not - not really, and now we - we n-never can be, you know?’

She seized at the air escaping her lungs, just in case. But... it wasn’t... nothing happened. Her breath did not quicken, her heart did not scream with exhaustion, just... remained.

Either way, she did not want to - _could not_ \- push it. She inhaled acutely, ground her palms into her sockets. Schooled herself, as best she could.

‘Yep, and that’s all for now, kids,’ she ground out. ‘So, what’s your ‘tragic’ shit? Your b-backstory or w-whatever?’

* * *

One moment, there was nothing.

The next, the all-too-familiar sight of her bedroom - clean (relatively, anyway), orderly (okay, again, sort of), and, some might say, sort of... characterless (there were... a few posters pinned up, a smattering of personal trinkets) - flooded her view.

Her life, her everything -- this room was kind of like her universe, she supposed.

She sighed, groaned, sunk further into the recesses beneath her duvet, curled herself up even more securely into a fetal position. It was comfortable in here: warm, and quiet, and nice, and people-free, and...

Yeah, it was the ‘people-free’ bit that was most appealing.

Although, _she_ would be there today.

Rachel Amber would be there.

Rachel fudgin’ Amber. She wasn’t most people. She was... being around her was terrifying (which, yeah, was par for the course, simply because she was another human being -- and a really, really, **really** pretty one, in every way, at that), and simultaneously... life-giving.

The fluttering in her chest elevated her, out from under the hollow she’d been occupying under her covers, up onto her feet. She felt uneasy, as ever. But at the same time, she... she honestly, deep down, couldn’t wait to go in. (Not even deep down, in fact.)

Peering at her reflection in the mirror hung on the far side of the room, she tittered at the sight of her hair; it was a mess. If there needed to be a picture beside the definition of ‘bed hair’ in the dictionary, a photo of her hair now would’ve probably been sufficient. It did not matter, though. It just gave her a reason to go shower -- not that she needed one today.

If it were any other day, then, pfft. Whatever, right?

(Okay, no, not quite. She did take some pride in her appearance. Maybe ‘pride’ was the wrong word; she washed enough that she wouldn’t gross everyone out or something.)

 _Today_ , however, she really took pride in, uh... scrubbing up. She crossed the room and scanned her features more thoroughly. Yeah, maybe the...

...the freckles were _sort of_ cute. Sorta. Gently, she smiled, and eventually, she was almost beaming.

Rachel Amber was infectiously life-giving. She was upbeat with pretty much everyone, seemingly, but... she was, like, a drug -- the, uh, the good kind, though, like she, umm...  
made everything alright, or... (okay, maybe comparing her to drugs wasn’t the best  
idea).

The point was, she made Max Caulfield giddy, made the future less... scary.

Max wasn’t dumb. She knew she was probably getting too excited, but... 

Really, truly, refreshingly giddy. For the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I am going to stahp for a wee while after this, but... yeah, here we are -- again!
> 
> As per usual, thanks for reading. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again.
> 
> Before we get into it, I must point out that I do not live in, or anywhere near, Seattle. As such, I ha-a-a-a-ave taken some liberties - specifically, I’ve made a place up, and the way it’s run might seem odd. I did look into the Seattle Art Museum but figured, eventually, that it might be less weird and awkward if I just invented a place -- not that I actually talk about said place in much detail here, but hey!
> 
> Thanks for reading. :D
> 
> (Oh, and Jossi55 - don't worry about the tags too much. :P)

When did it start?

She didn’t know.

It had always been like this. For as long as she could remember.

Like she was... different. That was the simplest way to put it. Like she didn’t quite belong. It... was difficult to describe.

* * *

**22 June 2010**

She arrived at 10:38. A bit too early (actually, _quite_ a bit too early), seeing as how the gallery opened at 11:00 and all, but... she had her reasons. Reason.

Max took the bus, opting to go the rest of the way on foot. It was only a ten-minute walk, give or take. Yeah, she could have waited for Dad to give her a lift (he _had_ offered to do so), but... ugh, this was kind of creepy.

* * *

It was like she just didn’t and couldn’t connect to other people. She was a freak or... just, like, something else. In - In a bad way. An outsider. She didn’t want to be, though.

She wished she was more... felt more as if things were all right. Normal.

* * *

She got there early, purposefully, because - in case Rachel was there early. Max wanted... wanted to have as much time to talk to Rachel as possible. And... yeah. This was lame and not particularly smooth, or cool, or... ugh.

There was no guarantee Rachel even would be there; one time she was, sure, but another time she was _really_ late. It was a gamble. One Max was willing to take, though, because... because every minute - every moment - she got to spend talking with Rachel was amazing.

Basically, amazing.

* * *

Max had friends... sort of, at her old school. That - Okay, that was unfair. By ‘sort of’, she meant that they....

They weren’t at all nasty, or mean, or bad, or anything like that. In fact, save for a few assholes - boys and girls alike - the other students in general were fine. Max was occasionally singled out, teased for stupid stuff (like an apparently disproportionately-sized head - even as far back as elementary school, people made fun of her for that -- oh, and she was mocked for being quiet, which... okay). For the most part, however, things were fine, none of the nightmarish stuff you hear about had occurred.

The point was, though, that even with her friends, she never quite felt like she... belonged.

Which was something wrong with her. So, she spent loads of her lunch breaks, time after school, etc., alone. Away from her friends. Away from other people. Usually in her bedroom -- after school, and on weekends, that is. During lunch, she’d regularly just go find somewhere secluded. Her friends sometimes asked about where she’d been, sometimes didn’t; it was nice when they didn’t, because she didn’t have to come up with some lame excuse about doing homework, or feeling unwell, or...

But it was upsetting when they didn’t ask, too. In the moment, she would wonder if it was because they, deep down, couldn’t care less? Maybe she was just someone they thought was all right (or pitied, even?) and hung out with because... why not? Maybe she wasn’t really their friend, though? They did do stuff outside of school without her, after all.

But, then again, whenever they did ask about what she’d been up to during lunch, she... well, made up excuses. And avoided them again, anyway. And when she was with them, she...

Well, felt alone. Separate. Like she did not fit.

At first, she could cope with feeling like this. Whatever, right? Focus on your schoolwork, and there’ll be time to be sociable later on. Okay.

Then it got worse. Stories would circulate about the wild parties people were having, about who was - was hooking up with who... stuff like that. Stories about Max’s, uh... her crush. Oh, uh, okay. Sure; she never talked to them or anything, did she? Had nothing to do with her. Never would. That’s... okay. It wouldn’t have been worth the hassle.

* * *

Max slipped into reception, quickly greeted the receptionist, and sped off to sign in. She hoped she just seemed as if she was in a rush. Why would she be, though? She was super (...relatively) early.

But the receptionist didn’t know that she actually had nowhere to be -- that she was being a creeper.

Was arriving early to, possibly, talk to Rachel more that bad? They seemed to get along, she and Max. As far as Max could tell, anyway, which... um, in light of the fact that she habitually avoided socialising....

Might not have been a good idea to trust her own instincts on this one -- or on anything else. Admittedly, she had peeped at Rachel’s instagram page once.

Twice. Only _really_ briefly. And she felt really scummy and uncomfortable afterwards!

...Looked at her twitter page - once - as well.

Oh, dog. In person, though, she - she was careful not to, umm... overwhelm Rachel, left her alone during lunch breaks (generally). Rachel laughed at her really awful jokes, and...

**...and smiled so sincerely.**

Max hadn’t meant to fall so stupidly, hopelessly, ridiculously head over heels for this girl. Saying ‘head over heels’ might have been over the top. She was... _crushing_ so hard, though, and...

Fudge.

Rachel had started speaking to her, and beyond just being absurdly pretty (...yeah, superficial to bring that up, but...), she was also insanely cute, and upbeat, and amusing, and down-to-earth, and surprisingly nerdy, and... infectious. Max couldn’t help it.

* * *

Eventually, Max figured it’d be easier if she... gave up. If she stopped wishing she could be more like everyone else. Or at least, like they all seemed to be. Like they had friends who they connected with, had people they weren’t so often indifferent to, like they weren’t some... third wheel.

She knew there were other people like her. Of course there were. Where were they? In the... in person. How could she find them? What would they even be like? Would... what if she couldn’t fit in with them?

And it’s not like she always wanted to find them. Some days she wanted to be swallowed up by the earth, so she could be alone; others, she craved contact so badly, but it either felt... wrong, or she couldn’t bear to face anyone...

Usually, anyway. It infrequently felt fine. Good. Great, even. That feeling never lasted.

Being alone was easier if Max chose to be alone.

***

And then she met Rachel Amber. The girl who wrenched open Max’s eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short one, but it's just to show that I've not completely ditched this. Not yet, anyway.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to update soon-ish.

**10 October 2013**

‘So, what’s your ‘tragic’ shit? Your b-backstory or w-whatever?’

Max did not respond. Not verbally. Instead, she gazed down at her... her teddy, nestled against the pillow at the bed’s head. 

Chloe twitched. The fact that this girl was doing whatever with a stuffed fucking bear wasn’t the problem, Chloe couldn’t give a shit about that, it was... She had just--

Fuck, she appreciated not wanting to talk about your feelings, and all that crap. Chloe had spoken to plenty of counsellors over the years, and it hadn’t achieved jack. ‘Talking about feelings’ was pointless; the universe just says, ‘Here you go, you’re broken! You’ve lost the jackpot! Boo, hoo, move on!’ and that’s all there is to it.

Fuckin’ move on. Chatting about it isn’t going to do anything, so just bottle whatever it is that’s eating you up up and shut it. Move on.

You’re just irrevocably fucked, you’re always going to be ‘ _fetishing your sadness_ ’, right? ‘ _Nothing will ever fulfill you._ ’

...That was, surprisingly, the last one she put up with. ‘Grats, asshat.

Her heart pounded, still.

‘O-Okay, look,’ she said. ‘If you don’t want to talk or shit, then f-fine.’ What was she doing here? Why had she come here? What - If blabbing to people who were ‘trained’ to deal with other people’s junk couldn’t help, then what was hashing it out with the teddy-bear whisperer here gonna do?

This was stupid as fuck. Chloe clambered onto her feet, gracelessly, her limbs unwieldy. ‘I’ll - I’ll see you arou--’

* * *

‘W-Wait, I--’ Max babbled, swinging from the Captain to Chloe, from the soft, warm, companionable, one-eyed face of her oldest friend to something far less soothing. She scrambled to find something to say, something that wasn’t so awkward and - and sad.

_How_ was any of _this_ supposed to measure up to what Chloe had just told her? Like... shit. Her - Her fucking dad’s died, a-and-- God. Chloe hung by the door, hunched, a glare thrust at Max all the while. What was she supposed to say?

‘ _Oh, I just get really uncomfortable speaking to others?_ ’

‘ _A girl I liked did nothing wrong, and I’m just a total dumbass?_ ’

‘ _...I feel so alone._ ’

Why couldn’t she just save and reload, or - or rewind time or something? So, so lame.

‘Yo-o-ou...’ Chloe droned, having finally broken out of her suspension.

Max couldn’t - couldn’t think. Dumb, stupid, doofus. Chloe snorted, shook her head, swivelled to leave. Gripped the door handle--

The shorter girl wrestled with herself, desperate to speak, to not be left alone, to not be a gasping mess an--

The door swung shut. Again. They always did.

Her eyes stung. She was defeated. ‘ _...I hate myself._ ’


End file.
